


The Better Choice

by Orange_Coyote



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Humor, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, POV switch, Prompt Fill, Tony Being Tony, because this time around tony steals a toaster, bucky is an annoying little shit in the mornings, grumpy steve, rhodey is a bro, since the ending doesn't like itself and demands more, thinking of adding another chapter to this, this is sorta the reverse of my other fic in which steve steals a toaster, will add more tags as needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4589325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orange_Coyote/pseuds/Orange_Coyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve finds himself agreeing to hosting a party at his and Bucky's tiny apartment.<br/>He almost regrets it, until some drunk stranger makes it all a little more bearable.<br/>The morning after brings its own surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Better Choice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarthaDanielle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarthaDanielle/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Party of the Year](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3731173) by [Orange_Coyote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orange_Coyote/pseuds/Orange_Coyote). 



> This is essentially a companion fic to my other story on here called The Party Of The Year. Same prompt, just taken in the other direction. I took a bit of liberty and replaced the toast with Pop Tarts.  
> Prompt: Person A stealing Person B's toaster when drunk at Person B's party. They return it and end up making breakfast but burn the toast.

Steve awoke suddenly, his eyes squinting valiantly beneath the harsh rays of sunlight filtering into his corneas. Seeing his best friend towering above him, a dopey grin on his fuzzy face, instigated no motivation to get up fully. Instead, he fell back into his nest of pillows and closed his eyes while a loud, low groan vibrated its way out of his throat.

"No, Buck."

Bucky gave a few bounces to the mattress for good measure before stepping down to the floor in order to try another tactic.

Steve entirely expected the impact before he felt it, even tensed his muscles and curled in on himself a bit more, but that did nothing to lessen the  _whoosh_ of air that left his lungs once Bucky landed bodily on top of him.

"You didn't even hear the plan yet, punk."

Steve pushed against Bucky's body in a vain attempt to move the lug's weight off his very important organs. Unfortunately, the nuthead refused to budge.

Steve sighed pitifully, resigned to his fate. "Fine. What is this masterful plan of yours?"

Finally Bucky rolled off him, giving Steve enough room to stretch. His grumpy glare had no effect.

"Party. Here. Tonight."

Steve was already shaking his head in disagreement as soon as the first syllable left Bucky's lips.

The last party he had attended got a little out of hand (he could barely remember any of it) and there was  _no way_ he'd be going through that again.

Bucky, knowing Steve well enough to anticipate this kind of response, immediately delved into his well thought out argument regarding just how and why this part would be "totally swell."

Steve zoned out for most of the talk, especially once the words "boozy babes" were mentioned. Amazing party, blah blah, everyone will come, blah blah, really important, blah blah, please Stevie come on please.

"So, to reiterate, in conclusion," Bucky intoned, "we should host a party here because it would be totally swell."

Steve couldn't help the fond smile stretching his lips at the sight of Bucky's coyly tilted head and fluttering eyelashes. He had a weakness and his friend fully exploited it at any and every opportunity.

"Let me guess," Steve muttered, amused despite himself. "You've already invited the entire campus before even asking me."

Bucky glanced quickly to the left, one of his tells, and replied, "No?"

"That supposed to be a question or an answer?"

Bucky ran his fingers through his messily cropped hair, a nervous tic if Steve has ever seen one on him. "I may have overreacted." He shook his head, the mere thought of whatever had happened evoking embarrassment even now. "They said you were a boring old man! I had to do it. I couldn't just let them insult you that way!"

"You're ridiculous."

"I defended your honor."

"You defended your pride."

"Don't get all 'liberty and justice for all' with me."

"Fine, Buck. You officially have my permission to throw your unnecessary party here in our crappy apartment."

"Great. Now help me set up."

* * *

7 o'clock hit and Steve found himself acting as greeter and bouncer in one for the first half hour as people streamed through, standing by the door with a beer in one hand and a polite smile on his face. Any kids who looked suspiciously underage were kindly, and firmly, turned away from the door. Thirty minutes, and what felt like hundreds of people, later, Steve looked down at the empty bottle in his hand and decided he'd done enough work for the night. It was a party, his party technically, so he may as well enjoy it away from responsible duties.

Already the living room, cleared of the coffee table and couch usually occupying it, had become the central hub of laughter, dancing, and sloppy make out sessions. Bucky, self-asserted DJ extraordinaire, ensured the room was filled with pulsating beats. Steve never really got the hang of edm, but he could appreciate it nonetheless. After checking that his and Bucky's shared bedroom hadn't been broken into and tampered with (not yet, at least), he searched for a calm enough corner in which he could stand relatively in peace.

He let the music flow over and through him as he watched the medley of people in the room with a balanced mixture of horrified awe and amusement. The way people moved their bodies... definitely not something he'd be good at.

He remained that way, thankfully not accosted by anyone aside from a slightly tipsy Natasha threatening to castrate him in his sleep if he didn't get his ass on the floor asap, for a little over an hour. Then everything changed when the fire nation attacked.

Okay, well maybe not a nation. And not particularly an attack either. But everything  _did_ change.

"What're you doing?"

Steve turned his head toward the source of the question. His eyes landed upon someone he was fairly certain he had no previous acquaintance with, but it was a big campus and he'd been attending for three years now so there was always the slight chance he had shared a class with this guy and just didn't remember him. The patchy goatee and dark hair could have belonged to anyone, but those eyes... Steve felt like he would have remembered those eyes.

He shrugged, realizing belatedly he'd been staring like a creep instead of answering the question posed to him. "Enjoying the party."

"This is  _not_ how you enjoy a party," the guy asserted. His words had a slight slur to them, Steve noticed.

"Oh, really?"

"Really. And I would know," he declared confidently.

Steve decided to humor him. "Okay then. How do  _you_ enjoy parties?" He may or may not have thought briefly about how decidedly attractive this stranger looks, even in the later stages of drunkenness.

"Five simple steps," came the response. "Drink, dance, break something, then drink some more."

Steve raised a brow, biting back a smirk at the person's blatant mistake. His gaze turned evaluating, taking in the slight red tinge to hazel brown eyes, the rumpled shirt hem. "Well, you must be at stage three by now."

"Huh?"

"You're already stumbling, swaying on your feet. And if the squeals I heard earlier are any indication, you've already hit the dance floor. Which leads to phase three."

"Oh."

"Please don't break anything," he requested. "Buck and I may not have much, but what we do have holds a bit of sentimental value along with the practical uses."

"What?"

"Me and Bucky," Steve explained slowly, pointing first to himself and then over to where Bucky stood surrounded by a horde of girls taking turns dancing against him, "the people who live here, are poor college kids with no money. So don't break our stuff. Please."

"Oh," the other boy nodded. "Okay."

Steve didn't fight the smile appearing in response to the goofy grin overtaking the drunk guy's face as he stood silently taking in... whatever his eyes were looking at.

"Why don't you go dance some more?" he suggested when it became clear this mystery guy wasn't moving any time soon.

"Nope, did that already. Time for more drinks! _Rhodey-pie_!"

He disappeared before Steve could learn his name.

* * *

Rhodey stumbled through the gyrating cloud of intoxicated young adults crowding the living room, barely avoiding being stepped on or elbowed along the way, into the relative peace and quiet of the kitchen area. He looked over his shoulder to ensure his best friend had dutifully and obediently followed in his footsteps. He mentally cursed that garish yellow flyer that had so fully captured Tony's attention in the student union building... which brought them here.

While Rhodey admitted to being somewhat drunk after an hour of vodka shots, cold beers, and a nameless electric blue cocktail shoved into his hand, Tony did no such thing. He proclaimed not only was he "barely tipsy" but also that he "didn't need any damn coddling." Rhodey, being the good friend that he is, politely disagreed by half cajoling, half dragging Tony toward the kitchen.

After a quick, yet thorough, perusal of the available food options, Pop Tarts seemed like the best choice.

Tony slumped his upper half across the island counter when Rhodey hoisted him onto a bar stool upon his arrival, eyes half closed and a glass of water clenched tightly between his hands. He hadn't moved since.

He remained virtually comatose until the crinkling of the Pop Tarts wrapper being ripped open reached his ears. Then he leaned up onto his elbows, gaze focused intently on the banged up white contraption his hazy mind vaguely registered as a toaster.

"I can make a better toaster than that," he proclaimed to Rhodey's back. "Even in my current condition."

Rhodey turned and sent him an indulgent smile. "Sure, Tones."

"I can!" Tony insisted with a wild wave of one hand. "My genius has no limits."

Rhodey placed one pastry within each slot of the toaster and set the timer to 3. "Are you admitting you're drunk?"

"Completely the opposition."

"Opposite."

"Opposite of what?"

Rhodey pressed down on the lever with a sigh and stepped over to his friend, taking a seat beside him. He could smell the strong odor of liquor emanating from Tony even with his mouth closed. "Nothing."

"Everything."

"Yeah, everything is the opposite of nothing. Good job."

Tony grinned, taking a sip from his glass and placing it down on the counter roughly enough for a few droplets to splash over the sides. "Told ya. I'm a genius."

Rhodey simply nodded his agreement.

"Are they done yet?"

"No. I just put them in."

"That was seventy seconds ago!"

Rhodey rolled his eyes. Constant dramatics with this one. "Count to one hundred and they'll be done."

Tony took a deep breath. "5, 10, 15, 20, 25, 30, 35, 40, 45, 50, 55, 60, 65, 70, 75, 80, 85, 90, 95, 100." He paused, looking expectantly at the toaster. When nothing happened, he turned his unimpressed gaze back to Rhodey. "You lied."

"Smart ass."

"You didn't say _how_ to count to one hundred."

"And now I regret that."

The pastries chose that exact moment to emerge from their incubation chambers with a joyful  _pop_.

Tony narrowed his eyes. "I'm taking that toaster."

"No."

"It's my engineering muse!"

"No."

"I will better the lives of millions!"

"No."

"Yes."

Tony was on his feet and unplugging the toaster from its electrical outlet before Rhodey could utter another no.

He jumped to his feet, carefully removing the battered object from Tony's grasp. He kept a firm grip as Tony clumsily made a grab for it. "This is not a good idea, Tones."

"Of course it is!" Tony argued. "I'm the king of good ideas!"

"You really aren't."

"Then we'll just have to agree to disagree."

"We're gonna get caught!" Rhodey exclaimed tiredly.

"Shhh."

Within a few minutes, Rhodey clutched the toaster to his chest as he and Tony stealthily climbed out the bathroom window.

* * *

The next morning dawned upon Steve diligently cleaning up, several empty glass bottles and sticky solo cups filling his second industrial sized trash bag of the morning. That didn't even account for the bowls littered across the kitchen floor after a round of poker spontaneously began with snacks comprising the betting pool.

Bucky made a brief appearance before returning to his bed, locking the door to prevent Steve from waking him up again at such a "godforsaken hour."

After the cleaning mission proved successful, Steve decided to waste away his post-party Sunday with a pint of vanilla bean ice cream and a Disney marathon. Just lounge on his couch without a care in the world.

At 1:52 pm a loud knocking broke him from his glorious rendition of "A Girl Worth Fighting For."

He hit pause, rising to his feet. He slipped into a pair of tattered gray sweatpants on his way to the door (since opening the door in just your boxers is usually frowned upon).

He felt the appropriate amount of surprise when the door opened and revealed the face of the hot drunk from the night before. The fact the he held a shiny black four-slice toaster in his hands only added to the overall 'what-the-hell-is-going-on' vibe of the situation.

"Hey," the guy greeted in the face of Steve's stunned silence. "I brought back your toaster."

Steve glanced backward over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen area and realized with a vague sense of awe that the place usually occupied by the toaster was indeed bare. He turned back around and stared wordlessly. What had he done to deserve this?

"I know I said I wouldn't break anything," the visitor prattled on, "and technically I didn't. I just took it home."

"That is not our toaster," Steve observed belatedly. "Our toaster is white, much less shiny, and only has two bread slots."

The boy shrugged, grinning. "I know. I made it better."

Steve shook his head in bewilderment. Was he dreaming? Was this the beginning of some cliche porno?

"I would have painted it red, a much better color by the way, but Rhodey logically pointed out that it wouldn't match your decor around here. Black is a staple neutral so I figured it'd be the better choice."

Steve reached out his hands and ran his fingers across the smooth, shiny surface of his new toaster. No dents, no scratches... nothing he had come to learn and love about Betsy remained.

"New and improved," the boy announced as he shifted the toaster within his grasp so Steve could have a clear view of every angle. "Four slices at a time instead of two, so it's doubled in efficiency. Plus I tweaked the wiring a bit to heat the bread, or waffles, or whatever, in half the time!"

Steve nodded as if he were sincerely impressed by this virtual stranger's accomplishments.

"Name's Tony, by the way. I can't remember if I told you that information last night."

"You didn't."

"Well, glad to have remedied that then."

"Uh-huh."

Tony stood passively for a moment beneath Steve's keen gaze, his eyes never wavering from Steve's. He looked completely at ease on Steve's doorstep. As if this sort of incident occurred every day and was nothing noteworthy. Maybe it did. Maybe Steve had accidentally attracted a serial electronics thief. Apparently anything was possible in his insane life.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Steve stepped aside and waved Tony inside. Why not?

"Nice place you have," Tony commented glibly as he stepped over the threshold and took in his new surroundings. He proceeded to plop down on the couch and lay his feet on the diminutive coffee table Steve had acquired at Goodwill at the beginning of the semester.

Steve allowed his eyes to wander from the guy's red sneakers to his dark denim jeans with holes in the knees, up across his golden t-shirt covered chest (which boldly proclaimed "I'm the King" in black block font and a sequined crown replacing the dot of the letter 'i' in 'king') to the short growth of beard and messy nest of dark curls atop his head.

"Make yourself at home," he grumbled half-heartedly.

"Mulan?" Apparently Tony had noticed his television screen. "Nice."

Steve smiled softly as he dropped gracefully into the vacant space of the worn leather couch. "Yeah." Mulan was secretly (or maybe not so secretly? Bucky did have a big mouth) his favorite Disney movie of all time.

Tony, for some reason, still held the toaster in his grasp. Seeming to suddenly realize this, he placed the object on the couch between them. "Sorry."

Steve waved one hand dismissively. "No worries. At least you brought it back. Even if you did give Betsy a makeover without my permission."

Tony released a bark of laughter. "Betsy?"

"Yep."

"Should I even ask?"

Steve pretended to ponder it over for a second before decisively responding, "Probably not."

Tony nodded. "I can appreciate that." He looked from the TV screen back to Steve, who hadn't moved his eyes from his enigmatic visitor once since his arrival. "Want some Pop Tarts?"

Steve blinked slowly. "What?"

"Pop Tarts. Blueberry, to be precise. Want one?"

"I'm more of a strawberry flavor kind of guy."

"Figured as much. Brought those too."

Steve narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Did you steal those too?"

"Nah. When your dad is as popular in the public eye as mine, you learn to read people."

"Should I even ask?"

"Probably not."

"Sure," Steve said after a brief moment of silence. "I could go for a Pop Tart." Why not?

"Awesome. Let me go plug in Betsy and we'll get to work." Tony grabbed the toaster and rose to his feet. 'I can show you how to use all her new features."

Steve followed Tony into the kitchen, a bemused smile gracing his features.

"This button is for slightly toasted. _This_ button is for averagely toasted. _This_ one is for mostly toasted. And this last button is for almost burnt," Tony explained patiently. "Any questions?"

Steve shook his head. He didn't know anything about Tony aside from the way he slurred his words when drunk, the glint in his eyes when he discussed something he was interested in, and how he so effortlessly took Steve's breath away. A vague sense of fondness squeezed his heart when Tony beamed at him.

"Great! How do you like your Pop Tarts?"

"Averagely toasted."

"One averagely toasted strawberry flavored Pop Tart coming right up."

Steve leaned against the counter and watched as Tony slid two Pop Tarts, one strawberry and one blueberry, into their appropriate slots. Five seconds passed before a pale gray stream of smoke began seeping from the machine. Steve immediately felt a panicked rush of concern enter his mind. Did they even have a fire extinguisher around here somewhere?

Tony, on the other hand, looked completely unaffected by the new development.

"Shouldn't you unplug it? Or something?" Steve queried anxiously.

"But it only has fifteen seconds left," Tony argued, as if that made all the sense in the world. "And if we unplug it now, how will you eat your Pop Tart?"

Steve groaned in frustration. "Is that really the most important thing right now?"

"Yes." Tony leaned forward and gripped Steve by the shoulders. "You shouldn't waste food."

Steve wanted to laugh, maybe at the ridiculousness of it all, maybe at the nervous flips going on in his stomach with Tony's close proximity. In the end he ignored his conscience, and the dull fluttering sensation in his gut, and let the toaster be.

Ten seconds passed in suspenseful silence for Steve. Eventually the toaster dinged and the two pastries launched themselves into the air, landing perfectly in Tony's outstretched, waiting hands.

They were both burned to a crisp.

Somehow, Steve wasn't surprised by the results of Tony's enhancements  _at all_.

Tony looked from Steve, to the Pop Tarts, and over to the toaster before returning his gaze to Steve. He shrugged, moving one of the charred pastries to his mouth and taking a large bite. The food item noticeably crunched with every chew. Steve winced at each instance of sound.

"Not bad actually," Tony announced once he managed to swallow. "A little burnt though."

Steve laughed incredulously. "Just a little, huh?"

Tony nodded solemnly. "I must have pushed the wrong button."

"Sure you did, Tony."

Steve absolutely did not find himself further endeared by the petulant pout that suddenly appeared on Tony's face.

"Not fair."

"What's not fair?"

"You know my name, but I don't know yours."

"It's Steve," he replied when he realized he had indeed forgotten to introduce himself at all in the previous twelve hours of their acquaintance. He had just assumed he had, what with his usual impeccable manners. Or that Tony knew either himself or Bucky from around campus somehow.

"Nice to meet you, Steve. Mind if I stick around while you finish Mulan? It's one of my favorites."

Before Steve could manage a coherent verbal response (what? he'd never had a cute boy ask to stay in his apartment before!), Tony had unplugged Betsy, dashed back into the living room, and comfortably splayed himself across the couch.

Steve tutted at the show of improper behavior but found himself smiling nonetheless as Tony toed of his shoes and let them fall unceremoniously to the floor.

"Sure," he said as he rejoined his fellow student in the living room. "Make yourself at home."

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I don't love this. But it was fun to write, so at least there's that.  
> Coming up with Steve approved insults was the most fun. I am so ashamed of putting in that Tumblr meme but oh well.  
> I went back and forth determining if I wanted to have the scene wherein Tony actually steals the toaster. Seeing as it's part of the prompt, I felt like it had to be there. So hopefully that section isn't too awkwardly out of place. Tony counting like that is actually how I used to do it as a kid.  
> P.S. If anyone who is art-savvy would be interested in portraying the scene in which Rhodey and Tony sneak out with the toaster through Steve's bathroom's tiny window, I will love you forever and be in your debt.


End file.
